


Sunshine & Whiskey

by adoctoraday



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, BAMF Beth Greene, Beth Greene Lives, Beth Greene Sings, Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene Friendship, Daryl Dixon Smut, Daryl Dixon and Beth Greene Reunion, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene Fluff, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene Smut, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Hurt Daryl Dixon, Living Together, Lost Love, Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Protective Daryl Dixon, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Scars, Singing, Slow Burn, Smut, Song Lyrics, Talking To Dead People, The Hilltop (Walking Dead), Walkers (Walking Dead), bethyl, living not surviving, slow burn daryl dixon/beth greene, the kingdom - Freeform, you're gonna miss me so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/adoctoraday
Summary: He thinks it's a hallucination.It has to be, because Beth Greene is dead.There's no way she's standing here, smiling at him like she's a flower and he's the sun.There's no way it's real.It's just his dying body and mind, showing him everything he fucked up, everything he lost.But what a way to go.





	1. Lay Me Down on a Red Road

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow bethyl fans! This is my first foray into this ship, though I've loved it since these two first started their arc together on the show. I'm Team Defiant/Delusional all the way, and this is my way of coping with the show refusing to tell us what happened to Beth's body! So yea, here we go!

Gravel and dirt digs into the tender skin of his knees and his eyes water painfully at the near daylight the floodlights create. He’s been in a cell barely big enough for his legs to stretch out fully and now he’s being forced to kneel, pain in every inch of his body.

None of that matters though, not when his family is being held at gunpoint by a madman and his zealot followers.

Blinking away the tears that burned in his eyes, he peers through the veil of his stringy, sweaty hair and swallows hard when his gaze finds Maggie. She’s paler than paper, sweating and looks inches from passing out...or worse.

 _Christ,_ he hopes that baby of hers is gonna make it. They had all lost too much, too many people they loved had been taken and if that little baby went too...nothing would be the same.

Tearing his gaze away from her, he squints into the lights backlighting the men holding them hostage, trying to search for an escape.

It’s foolish, he knows that, there are too many of them, and his people don’t have their weapons anymore. He swallows and keeps looking anyway, an inescapable feeling of despair filling him with each moment that passes.

As he’s turning his head slowly so as not to attract attention, something in the corner of his eye catches his attention. Tilting his chin a bit, he peers into the gloom surrounding the RV and blinks hard. It was just a flash of blonde, a hint of yellow and white and his mind instantly recalls the last time he had seen those things together.

But it’s not her, he knows that. It’s just his blood deprived and shell shocked brain trying to summon an image that’ll comfort him in what could be the last minutes of his life.

He sees another flash of blonde and tilts his head, tracking it until it’s in a tree branch and the light is just right and he curses softly, hating his mind for betraying him. It’s her face again, and he hates how many times he’s seen flashes of her in the corner of his eye, hates how much he missed her, how he had taken to talking to her in his mind when he was out huntin, reluctant to ever really let her go.

He must really be losing more blood than he thought because she’s staring back at him, a fierce expression he’s all too familiar with on her sharp little face. Something that could almost be a smile purses her lips and his heart clenches.

It’s not her, he knows that. He knows it can’t be her because he saw what the bullet did to her head. He’s the one who carried her limp body and then wrapped it in the cleanest sheet he could find, refusing to put her down for the better part of a day until he had found that barn by the lake and had laid her to rest in the hay. There had just been something so awful about the idea of putting her beneath that red clay earth, as if it would diminish her in some way.

So it can’t be her.

It’s just a hallucination; blood loss and exhaustion giving him exactly what he’d want to see in his last moments.

He knows it isn’t real, but he can’t tear his eyes away from her. If it’s going to be the last thing he sees, he’d rather it be her than the leather clad man swinging his bat with unrestrained glee.

_You’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone Daryl Dixon_

He does, _Christ_ , does he miss her. So if this is the last thing he’ll see before he dies, well, he thinks he’s okay with that.

Negan is crowing on about which of them is gonna die, swinging his bat like he’s a pro at the plate taking practice swings. He plays eenie-meenie-minie-mo with them until he’s standing in front of Abraham and Glenn and then the sick fuck grins and nods, looking around the group at their horrified faces.

“Well, here we go,” he announces, grinning again as he pulls back the bat and then it’s flying and it’s connecting and it sounds like wood hitting a ripe melon and his brain tries to convince him that’s what it is, but what’s splattering against his face is hot and he knows that it’s not melon, it’s everything that made Abraham a person.

The group is screaming and crying, begging for mercy, but mercy doesn’t live here, not for them anyway.

Daryl’s eyes slip shut as it all begins to overwhelm him and his head dips toward his chest. The sobs that kick out of his chest are quiet, painful ones that make it hard to breathe.

When the wet thudding of the bat stops he opens his eyes again, and three things happen in quick succession.

Negan points the dripping bat at Glenn and grins, “Batter up!”

He swings, hips torquing with the force of it.

A dot of red appears on his forehead and suddenly Daryl is getting splattered by blood and bone and brain and Negan is crashing to the ground as the sound of the gunshot reaches them.

Chaos erupts.

The Saviors circle around Negan’s body, too late to protect him as they raise their weapons and glare at their captives. Only Simon seems to realize what’s happening because a moment later he’s ordering men and women into the woods to find the sniper.

After that it’s just blood and bullets and death.

As the numbers of the Saviors are cut down, his people get up and retake their weapons, fighting and killing until there’s nothing left but bodies and silence.

He’s still kneeling, head pounding duly as more of his blood drips to the ground from his wound. His eyes are barely open, their weight far too much for him to fight.

He hears people shouting  and crying and he wants to open his eyes but it’s too hard. They almost sound...excited. But that can’t be right. It’s just his dying brain lying again.

There’s the sound of feet and his instincts—the ones that all humans have from a time when the things in the dark hunted ancient man—they tell him someone is standing in front of him.

He struggles, lids flicking half open, then drooping, then forced up and he’s frowning because not-Beth is standing in front of him, sniper rifle over her shoulder, eyes as blue as a summer sky after a thunderstorm.

She’s studying him and he sways towards her, hoping his brain will bless him with this one last gift—that he can touch her one last time before he dies.

She steps forward, hand landing on his shoulder and he sighs weakly, slumping into her so his face is pressing into her stomach and he thinks god, god this is a good way to go.

Her fingers trail through his hair and he makes a broken noise as a sob lodges in his throat.

“Beth,” he gasps, hands clutching the backs of her thighs, pulse throbbing in his wound.

She says something he can’t understand and he just shakes his head, too tired to try and figure it out.

He’s going. He knows it.

“Glad...I got ta...see ya...one last...time,” he grinds out, blackness rising up rapidly behind his eyes.

He slumps away from her, falling to the ground on his bad shoulder and distantly he hears people shouting, feels her small hand on his arm, calling his name.

_I’m comin girl, I’m comin_

****

* * *

 

He’s not dead.

He knows this because everything hurts, hurts like it used to when his daddy would beat him till he couldn’t lift the strap anymore.

He can hear a few people talking softly, and when he finally manages to open his eyes, he has to reconsider that whole _alive_ thing because, well, she’s still there.

She’s lookin at him too and when his eyes flick past her to where Rick and Maggie are watching her, watching them, he takes a ragged breath because, _fuck_ , had they all died? Were they all trapped in this hell where pain had a name and everything was the same but horribly different?

She approaches him slowly, giving him time to look her over hungrily. She’s wearing grey jeans with more holes than fabric, a yellow and grey sweater, her boots, and a red bandana in her hair.

She looks beautiful.

His gaze searches her and it rests on the scars that are pale pink and healed.

It’s…

He’s too goddamn scared to hope. If he’s wrong, then this is hell.

When she reaches out and wraps her hand around his and squeezes it tight, a sob lurches out of him and he’s suddenly breathing too hard and fast, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably.

_Beth Beth Beth_

He gasps her name over and over again and then she’s pulling him towards her and his arms are banding around her waist because he’s never letting her go, _never never never._

Distantly he hears a door shut and realizes they must be alone, but he can’t stop shaking and crying and she’s not stopping him, just running her fingers through his hair, gentle as can be.

Around the time his tears start to slow he realizes she’s been humming, soft and sweet and it makes something in his chest tighten and he struggles not to start crying again.

When his ragged breathing is a little more normal, he lifts his head from her tear stained shirt and just stares up at her.

She smiles softly and cups his face, thumbs passing over his cheekbones over and over again.

“Hi Daryl.”

 

* * *

****

It’s really her.

He has to keep telling himself that as she sits by his bed, hand holding his, her torso tilted forward so she can lay her head on the pillow next to his.

She went to sleep a while ago, and he’s bone tired, his body is begging him to do the same but he can’t. He can’t look away from her, can’t risk losing her again while he’s not looking.

It was devastating enough the first time—what he had thought was the _only_ time—if it happened again he isn’t  sure he’d be able to endure it.

He watches her as she sleeps, chest rising and falling slowly. Her sunshine hair is brushing his fingers where their intertwined hands are tucked beneath her chin, and if he tilts his chin and inhales, he can smell the scent of rain and sun on her hair.

It makes something ache in his chest and he’s suddenly remembering their days on the run from the prison, how no matter how grimy she got, she still smelled like flowers and sun and joy whenever he got close enough to her to inhale that fragrant bouquet.

There’s no one around now so he shifts a little closer on the pillow till her hair is brushing against his nose. Each slow inhale draws more of her scent in and before he knows it, he’s bowled over by exhaustion.

When Maggie cracks the door to check on them, she’s amazed to see her little sister’s head on the pillow by Daryl’s. Their fingers are twined together and his face is pressed against the crown of her head and for a moment Beth’s eyes crack open, meeting hers.

_I’m fine_

They’ve always been able to have these wordless conversations, so Maggie just nods and smiles faintly.

_Love you Bethy_

Beth smiles and her eyes crinkle at the corners.

_Love you too Mags_

Maggie swipes at tears that threaten to fall as she shuts the door once more, still stunned by her sister’s return from the dead.

Beth had promised answers as soon as Daryl was able to stay awake and hear them. It looked like Beth would be the first to know any change in his status, and Maggie began to wonder just whether or not there was something there, between her sister and Daryl. 

****

* * *

 

The next time Daryl wakes, she's gone.

He sits up so abruptly his head spins and throbs and he takes short, panicked breaths, spots clouding his vision.

“She went to get something to eat, she’ll be back.”

As his vision clears he sees Rick sitting beside his bed, Judith curled up against his chest, fast asleep. His lips quirk at the sight of Little Ass Kicker as they always do and just having her and her father nearby makes him breath a little easier.

When he meets Rick’s gaze, he sees concern burning there. This is his brother, the man who had always believed in him, relied on him, loved him. He’s slow to speak, the weight of everything that has been lost and gained in the span of a few hours making his head spin and his stomach clench.

“How is everyone?” he asks, voice hoarse and weak from exhaustion and the tidal wave of emotions that’s been wearing him down for days, weeks, months...since _she_ died really. Nothin has been the same since.

Rick sighs and his fingers on Judith’s back tighten, holding her closer like he’s afraid he might still lose her. “Abraham is dead. Maggie is fine, baby too. Everyone else is shook up; they’re gonna need time to grieve, heal.”

His bright blue eyes meet Daryl’s whiskey ones and a smile starts to spread on his face. “Beth’s been finding it hard to get any of us ta stop hugging her, I can hardly believe it’s really her,” he tells Daryl, shaking his head incredulously.

Daryl hums and gnaws at his thumb, hesitating before he tells Rick, “Didn’t think she _was_ real.” At Rick’s furrowed, confused look, he ducks his head and tells him, “Saw her when Negan was talkin an I thought it was just cause I was dyin.”

Rick inhales at that, sorrow in his eyes making Daryl uncomfortable. He doesn’t want or need pity, especially not from his brother. “She’s real,” Rick tells him, and Daryl nods because yea, he figured that out eventually. “She’s refusing to talk about how she survived and found us until you’re well enough.”

For a moment, Daryl is tempted to smile, because yea, that sounds exactly like something she’d do. His lips curl up at the corners and something warm lodges in his chest. He lifts his gaze and meets Rick’s.

“I’m well enough.”

****

* * *

****

He finds out they’re not in Alexandria by  way of a man he’s not familiar with coming in to check his stitches and his near violent refusal to let him touch him drawing his family into the room.

Beth is crowded out of the room and he can see her bright eyes watching him from the doorway as Rick explains that this is Dr. Edwards from Grady. Daryl growls at that, fists balling in the fabric of the sheet and the man blanches and takes a large step back.

She’s pushing through their family and is at his side a moment later, her slim body shielding the doctor from his view only marginally well, but it’s her hand on his arm that pulls his attention to her face.

She smiles softly at him and her thumb brushes over the pulse in his wrist and he’s suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “He saved me,” she tells him, tells the whole room really, though she’s only looking at him.

“When I was shot, I wasn’t dead, but in a coma from the swelling in my brain.” She lifts a hand and then pushes the red bandana back so he can see the furrowing scar at the crown of her head running back three inches into her scalp.

The hair there is sparse but when he meets her gaze he finds there’s no hesitation or shyness; she isn’t defined by these scars, no, she’s defined by her refusal to quit, to not give into this nightmare of a world that’s tried to take her one too many times.

She’s not a victim, she’s a goddamn survivor and he meets her gaze for a long heavy moment where it’s just them and she nods slowly, hearing every word he’s not saying out loud.

****

_Oh_

****

Her eyes crinkle around the edges and then she’s outright smiling and something in his chest hurts at how bright and beautiful she is.

****

_Oh_

****

When he’s lookin at her he’s never felt so happy.

So alive.

His fingers find hers and squeeze and she sighs softly, her eyes soft on his face. He can see forever in her eyes, a lifetime of happy.

****

_Oh_

****

* * *

****

Someone clears their throat and Daryl ducks his head, flushing. Beth just laughs, a light whispery sound, and continues telling them her story.

“Edwards followed you out of the city with an officer to help him, and when they finally found me, I was probably a few hours from dying.”

She shifts and when he looks up and sees her leaning on his bed he glances over to where Carl is standing near a stool, nods at the kid and jerks his chin towards Beth. Carl’s a quick kid because a moment later he’s carrying the stool over for her to sit on and when she smiles brightly at him he flushed and trips over his own feet as he steps back.

Daryl hides his grin; he remembers the crush the kid had harbored for Beth back at the prison, the way he would look at her when she was singing. But then, hadn’t he been lookin at her too?

Maybe he hadn’t figured it out then, but he sure had after.

She sits and reaches over to lace their fingers together again, holding their hands in her lap while she speaks.

“They got me back to Grady, and for the next month they fought to keep me alive. I had an infection in the wound and in my brain, an they were pretty sure I wasn’t gonna make it.”

His fingers tighten on hers and she spares him a glance, making sure he’s ok before she goes on. “Eventually I got better. When I woke up I couldn’t stand or walk or talk. I had to relearn it all,” she says and her fingers tighten on his, voice a little thick now.

She pauses for a minute, taking deep breaths before she continues. “It took eight months for me to learn how to do it all again, and when I was finally allowed outside, I wasn’t strong enough to take down a walker let alone defend myself.”

Beth sighs and glances over at Edwards, a faint smile curling her lips. “I kept insistin we had to come find y’all. It took me awhile, but I finally convinced the doctor here I was strong enough.” Daryl snorts because, yea, she’s that stubborn, he remembers all too well her screaming at him that she wasn’t just another dead girl. If anyone would survive this hell, it was Beth Greene.

She looks down at him and her eyes warm with amusement, like she knows what he’s thinking and she shakes her head minutely before turning back to the group who are just kind of watching them, without saying anything.

“We had to wait out a herd, and then we were out of Atlanta and headed for Richmond where Noah was from.” She pauses and looks around the group, face falling as she realizes he’s not there. She looks to Rick, “He didn’t make it?” she asks softly, and it’s clear from the look on her face that she already knows the answer, but Daryl figures she just needs to hear it.

Rick nods and she swallows hard for a minute before she can speak again. “When we got to Richmond and you weren’t there, I didn’t know where to go. There wasn’t much of a trail to follow, but I figured you’d head north, so that’s where we went. It took awhile, talkin to survivors on the road, but we eventually heard of a few settlements near DC.”

She shrugs, “Figured that’s where you’d end up.”

Rick’s brow furrows, “But how did you know about Negan and the Saviors?”

He can feel it when she stiffens, every line of her body screaming that she doesn’t want to answer this question. And then she’s sighing, ducking her head and fidgeting with their intertwined hands, lips pursed in a frown.

“We ran into one of their outposts during a storm, lookin for shelter. We found Saviors instead.” She shakes her head, “They wanted to take us to Negan, and I didn’t think it was a good idea, but Steve thought we should. See if we could get more supplies and a look at this Negan.” She casts a look to Dr. Edwards and they share a wry smile before she shakes her head, “We heard all about this group of folks given ‘em trouble, and when he was bitchin about some guy named Rick,” she shrugs and a grin begins to build, “I knew it had to be you.”

“We slipped out when they were distracted by a herd of walkers surroundin their compound. Used the guts to mask our scent, slipped through the woods, and kept going till we found the Kingdom a few days ago. We heard word that Maggie was sick, that the baby was in trouble and decided to meet y’all on the road.”

She looks at Maggie, brow furrowed in concern and smiles faintly, “I’m just glad we made it in time,” she says softly, eyes bright. Maggie makes a soft noise and she’s out of Glenn’s arms and across the room in a heartbeat, gathering her little sister into her arms. They cling together and she’s still holding his hand and he doesn’t know what to do so he just keeps holding onto it.

Eventually Maggie pulls back and smiles, eyes bright as she cups Beth’s face. “I shoulda known you’d make it Bethy,” she whispers.

Soon the whole group is moving in to hug her and tell her how much they missed her, how much they love her. She holds his hand the whole time, and he worries it’s gonna make people think they’re _something_ , he doesn’t know what, he just knows he doesn’t want her to let go.

Not yet.

When the last of the group has filtered out, leaving them alone once more, she turns to face him, and he can see for the first time how tired she is. She smiles softly at him and lifts a brow, “Ya get to eat anythin yet?” she asks softly.

He just shrugs and then winces as his shoulder throbs angrily. Her hand is gentle when she reaches out to run her fingers over the white bandage peeking out from under his tshirt. Her brow is creased with worry and she’s biting her lip, eyes troubled. When her gaze meets his she sighs and smiles faintly, “You wanna eat?” she asks softly, and this time he nods.

She gives him a wider smile and as she steps away, her hand finds his and squeezes briefly.

“Be right back,” she promises, eyes bright and serious.

He nods and watches her go, refusing to pull his gaze anywhere else when the door closes. After five minutes his hands clench in the blankets, anxiety beginning to build when she doesn’t come back.

When he’s sure ten minutes have passed panic bubbles up and he throws back the blankets, swings his legs over the side of the gurney, and stands. His legs buckle almost immediately and his head pounds and swims, dark spots filling his vision. His injured shoulder screams when he catches himself on the gurney, his weight far too much for the fresh bullet wound.

“What tha hell do ya think you’re doing?!”

Her voice is sharp, scared and angry.

As his vision begins to clear he feels her hands on his back and arm, guiding him back onto the bed. He’s a little dizzy, but he thinks she glaring at him.

“What tha hell were ya doin Daryl?” she demands, voice wavering as she tucks the blankets back around him. “Ya tryin to kill yerself?” she asks, eyes cutting to his, wide and worried.

He grumbles and shakes his head. “Jus, worried, ‘s all.”

Her brows knit together, “Worried bout what?”

He won’t meet her gaze. “You were gone. Thought maybe…” he trails off, unable to put into words what he had been fearing.

Realization spreads across her face like a sunrise, lighting her up. “Oh.”

He’s blushing he knows that, but he finally peers up through his thick fringe of hair to find her staring at him like she had in the funeral home; awed. Then she’s the one flushing and turning around to grab a tray of food off the counter she must have put down when she found him out of bed.

It’s quiet as she carries it over to the bed, and then she’s hesitating for a moment before handing it over and climbing onto it with him. He stares at her in surprise and then shifts towards the wall, giving her more room.

She smiles softly and tucks her legs criss cross under her, her knee resting on his thigh. After a few moments she raises a brow and looks pointedly at the food. Ducking his head, he nods and picks up the spoon, taking a large bite of the soup that he’s just now realizing smells amazing.

Her fingers are slight and quick when she steals one of the carrots off his tray, grinning at him when he lifts a baleful eye to her. His faux indignance slips away and he’s smiling softly back at her for a moment before he continues eating.

They sit in silence, and it’s comfortable.

More comfortable than it has any right to be, given how long they’ve been apart and everything that’s happened.

But it is.

When he’s eaten everything he can and she’s eaten more of the vegetables on the tray than he has, she lifts it from his lap and sets it on the stool next to the gurney. She looks out the window and then back to him, and he notices for the first time that it’s evening.

He wonders how long he slept for, and then decides it doesn’t matter. He’s been hurt worse before, but he ain’t gettin any younger, so he figures he needs the rest. When she shifts suddenly to lay down beside him, he stares at her in surprise, gut twisting as her body presses against his.

He debates whether this is a good idea for all of a moment before he’s sliding deeper into the gurney, pulling the blankets around them and slinging his good arm around her to pull her closer. She sighs and presses her cheek against his shoulder, her breath soft against his skin.

As he’s drifting off to sleep he turns  his chin and presses his lips against her hair, inhaling that sunshine so it fills his chest with warmth.

“Missed you so bad Beth Greene.”


	2. Falling Like Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are: "Stone" Alessia Cara, "Porch Song" Jessica Rotter, "Wait" Amy Vachal

The next time he wakes she’s gone and he has to remind himself again that she’s real, she survived. It makes his heart clench when he realizes that they didn’t  _ all  _ survive last night, and he wonders if Rosita is doin ok. 

He’s slow to rise from the bed, his head throbbing and his shoulder protesting, but he’s been down too long. He has to check on his family. 

As he opens the door he realizes he doesn’t know where he is; it’s not Alexandria or Hilltop which means it must be the Kingdom. He turns the corner and balks, recognizing the hallway where he was held in a windowless room and tortured. 

It doesn’t compute for a minute, that they’ve taken refuge in the place he wanted so desperately to die. He hears footsteps and instinct kicks in sending him ducking around the corner, fists clenched in preparation. 

“Come on Maggie, give it a rest.”

“I just wanna know how you knew how to find us! That’s not such an odd question.”

There’s a long sigh and the footsteps stop. “Daryl taught me how to track. I found a few people who y’all had bumped into and they were pretty sure y’all were headed up here.”

It’s quiet for a moment and then, “I never seen anybody shoot like that,” Maggie murmurs, “did Daryl teach ya that too?”

It’s quiet for so long he wonders if Beth had just slipped away without speaking, but then, she breaks that quiet. 

“Nah Maggie, I had to learn that when I decided I wasn’t gonna be a dead girl no more. It didn’t matter if I got left behind after the prison, I wasn’t gonna go out like Daddy or T-Dog or any of em.”

He hears what sounds like a sob and then the shuffle of feet and then Maggie’s voice is muffled but still loud enough for him to hear. 

“I’m so sorry Beth, I just couldn’t have hope. Losin daddy and tryin to find Glenn...I just couldn’t think of you alive because that’d mean I failed,” she says, another sobbing sound carrying down the hallway. 

He can almost picture Beth’s face when she replies, “You didn’t fail Maggie. I was strong enough. I’ll always find ya,” she promises. He’d bet his last arrow her jaw is set as she makes that promise, a fire burning in her eyes he’s familiar with. 

There’s more scuffling noises and then sniffing and shared quiet laughter before the footsteps resume and he knows they’re headed right for him so he stands straight and rounds the corner, watching as Beth’s eyes widen and then narrow at him. 

“Daryl Dixon, you oughta be in bed,” she scolds, taking two large steps forward so she’s nearly toe to toe with him, her pink lips turned down in a reproving frown. 

“Jus wanna make sure y’all are ok,” he mutters, meeting her gaze, “figure out where tha hell we are.” He looks around the hallway and shrugs his good shoulder, “been here before though.”

Beth’s frown deepens as she casts a glance around, gaze landing on one of the cell doors that’s wide open, and he can see it when she understands. 

Her shoulders stiffen and she turns back to him with a searching look, “Who?” she demands, guessing, “Negan?”

He nods, “Guy called Dwight did most of the talkin and shit.”

He doesn’t have to tell her what that means, he can see from the anger bleeding into her gaze that she gets it. She stares up at him for a long moment, ignoring the sound of Maggie clearing her throat, and then she’s nodding, “A’right. Come on, they’ll all want to see ya,” she murmurs, stepping so she’s at his side and can take his elbow and some of his weight.

He tries to keep himself upright, but by the time they make it to the production floor where his family is loitering, he’s hunched against the pain. The only thing keeping him up is the tiny blonde by his side, her fingers strong and warm against his clammy skin, her occasional smile of encouragement giving him the strength to keep going. 

There’s a general exclamation of surprise from those gathered at seeing him out of bed so soon, and before he knows it he’s sitting and a plate of food is being shoved in front of him. Carol and Ezekiel are standing together, his broad arm pinning her to his side, but she’s beaming at him like he hung the damn moon and Carl is sitting beside him chattering on about how they’re gonna work with the Saviors who surrendered to create a new community. 

He hears a girlish laugh and looks up, smiling when he sees Lil Ass-Kicker running towards him with Michonne trailing after and Rick watching them from where he’s leaning against the wall. 

The little girl demands to be picked up and he ignores the protest in his shoulder and Michonne’s explanation to her that uncle Daryl is hurt. She figures it out for herself, tiny hand touching his bandage gently, a frown furrowing her little brow. 

“Uncle Daryl, you’re hurt,” she says quietly and he nods and gives her a soft smile, “Sure am punkin. But I’m gonna be all better soon,” he promises. 

She stares at the bandage for another minute before nodding and then throwing her arms around his neck so tight he’s smiling at how strong she is. “Missed ya,” she whispers, tiny head tucked under his ear, the soft words nearly breakin his heart. 

His eyes water and he presses her closer with a large palm to her back, “Missed ya too punkin,” he tells her, voice scratchy and thick. 

When he looks up, he finds that everyone has a sappy look on their faces and he quickly ducks his head again, flushing. He feels a new hand on his shoulder and somehow, he just  _ knows  _ it’s her. 

“Hey sweetheart, uncle Daryl needs to eat, can you sit beside him so he’s got room?” 

He feels Judith nod and then she’s slipping between him and Carl and soon enough everyone is gathered together, talking, laughing and smiling. 

It makes something in his chest warm, knowing his family is safe, seeing it with his own eyes. He called feel her behind him, a strong, steady presence. 

When he’s eaten and is exhausted she cups his elbow and helps him stand, brushing off offers of help with a pleasant smile and a quiet insistence that she can do it. They’re turning down a different hallway and his feet slow, peering around warily. 

Beth looks up at him, squeezing his hip where she has her arm slung around his waist, “Thought ya might wanna be in a real bed,” she murmurs. 

He hesitates a moment, glancing down the hallway again. “Where’s everybody else?”

She points with her free hand to a set of stairs, “Kids and Rick and Michonne are up there. Rest of us are down here,” she tells him, waving to the doors lining the hallways. She hesitates, then points to a door, “That one is beside me, if you wanna…”

He’s nodding before she’s even finished, because yea, he’s not letting her out of sight if he can help it. He’s not losing her again. 

That hesitant look melts away as she smiles up at him, nodding sharply and then she’s guiding him gently down the hall and pushing the door open. It looks like the one he had seen when he tried to escape, but this one is cleaner, smells fresh too, and when she guides him into the bed, he can tell it has fresh sheets from the clean smell of the pillows. 

She stands by the bed for a moment and then sits beside him, hip to hip and he has to remember to breathe with the way she’s lookin at him. 

“There’s a shower,” she tells him, pointing toward the back of the room, smiling brightly, “there’s even hot water.”

“Ya sayin I smell?” he teases, voice low and rough. 

She’s wide eyed and stammering and he ducks his head, embarrassed that he’s so out of practice she can’t tell he’s jokin anymore. “Just kiddin witcha,” he murmurs, lifting his gaze to peer between his heavy fringe of hair at her. 

She flushes and wrinkles her nose at him, “Well Mr. Dixon, you should practice. And shower, because ya do smell,” she retorts, grinning at him playfully and it’s good, he thinks, seeing her smile like that. She softens after a moment and her gaze flicks to where his bandage sticks out from under his shirt, mouth curling down with a frown. 

“Can I check that?” she asks, bright eyes meeting his questioningly. He nods and sits higher on the bed, propping his back against the wall while she stares at him, biting her lip. Her hands land around the hem of his shirt and tug gently, maneuvering his injured shoulder slowly so she can slip his arm free and check the wound. 

Her hands are warm and soft and gentle as she presses on his ribs, probing for any sore spots and he jerks when they slide over his skin with a ticklish sensation that he hasn’t felt since he was a kid and Merle would pin him down and tickle him till he cried. 

She smirks a little and keeps going, fingers ghostly when she peels back the bandage to check the stitches in his shoulder. She nods when she sees it’s uninflamed and showing no signs of infection, carefully tucking the bandage back down. 

Her hands linger on him and she bites her lip when she looks at him, “How’s your head?” she asks, frowning when he shrugs. “Gotta headache?” she probes. 

He shrugs and nods and she sighs softly, sounds a little like she’s annoyed, but she’s still careful when she slides her fingers through his hair, checking the spots where he had been hit. He winces and swallows hard against a sudden wave of nausea as her fingers press into those tender spots. 

She must see it because she retreats quickly, whispering a quiet apology. He can’t shake his head because it’s swimmin and he’s worried he’ll throw up in front of her and that’s the last thing he needs is for her to see him gettin sick like a dog. 

His eyes are screwed shut and he can feel it when she stands up, hear it when she leaves the room and god, that sick feeling just keeps growing. 

When a hand touches his face he flinches back, eyes popping open as his heart races, but it’s her, back with a damp cloth and a bottle of ibuprofen. “Lay back,” she orders gently, with no room for argument from her tone, and nods, pleased, when he does. 

She’s careful as she wipes his face and then helps him out of his shirt so he’s not sweating so much, swipes the cloth over his limbs, wiping away the sweaty sheen on his skin. When she lays the cool cloth over his eyes he sighs at the coolness easing the throbbing behind his eyes.

“I’ll turn off the lights for ya,” she murmurs. “Take some painkillers and then get some rest,” she tells him, and he can hear her stand, and he doesn’t want her to go, doesn’t want to wake up without her there, so he shoves the cloth off his face and grabs her wrist. 

Beth stares down at him, wide eyed at the unexpected contact, and then she’s softening, leaning down to run her fingers through his hair again. 

“Stay,” he whispers, voice hoarse and tired. He chews his lip while she stares at him, fingers still stroking through his hair, and then she nods and turns so she can turn off the lights before she sits beside him on the bed, back propped against the wall like his had been. 

She’s on the outside and he can see the knife strapped to her hip, and when she sees where his gaze is she smiles faintly, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect ya,” she teases, though, there’s a note of iron and truth and he knows if something happened, if their security was breached, she’d use that knife. 

She ain’t no dead girl. 

He just nods and his lips twitch in amusement and then he’s shifting his head on his pillow till the side of his face is pressing into her hip(the side of her ass really, but he tries not to think about that). She waits for him to settle and then lifts a hand to run through his hair, humming some wordless tune. 

His eyes blink slowly as exhaustion wears at him and when he looks up at her she’s smiling soft and warm down at him, her delicate fingers still threading through his hair. “Will ya sing?” he asks thickly, voice sleepy and low. 

She looks surprised for a moment and then nods, thumb stretching so she can rub his temple and fuck, the way his body shivers, she  _ must  _ feel it. But if she does she doesn’t say anything, just pulls the covers a little further up his chest and smiles. 

She hums for a few moments and then starts to sing, voice soft and sweet. 

_ Breathe easy _

_ Breathe easy _

_ When the light that you've shown's made your walls all bygone _

_ You can breathe easy _

 

He does breath easier, eyes falling to half mast as she croons, fingers tangling in his hair. 

_ Call on me _

_ Call on me _

_ When you're dreaming alone and you don't know where home is _

_ You can call on me _

 

He knows where home is, he thinks sleepily, it’s wherever she is. 

_ Life, life isn't so hard _

_ When you let your head fall on my shoulder _

_ Life, life isn't so hard _

_ When you let your heart fall into mine _

 

Half asleep, he curls towards her, shuffles until his head is in her lap and then he’s going limp, too sunk into sleep to move. She hums softly and wipes his hair back from his face, fingers gentle on his brow. 

_ Free your mind _

_ Free your mind _

_ When it feels like your mind is doing time _

_ You can free, free your mind _

_ Life, life isn't so hard _

_ When you let your head fall on my shoulder _

_ Life, life isn't so hard _

_ When you let your heart fall into mine _

_ Free your mind _

_ Free your mind _

By the time she’s singing the last refrain, he’s snoring softly, one hand holding on to her thigh, breaths slow and even.

_ When it feels like your mind is doing time _

_ You can free, free your mind _

_ You can free, free your mind _

_ You can free, free your mind _

 

Beth watches him sleep, fingers slowing in his hair, something warm in her chest at how much younger he looks like this. She can remember the first time she saw him, back on the farm when he rode up on his motorcycle, looking angry at the world. 

When he went after Sofia she was certain he was a good man, albeit a strange one what with those walker ears strung around his neck, but nonetheless, a good man. 

In the few days she’s been back with her family she’s heard all about their trip to Alexandria, seen how Rick and Michonne look at each other, played with Judy and seen the little bump on Maggie’s belly that’ll be her niece or nephew someday, but no one will tell her anything about Daryl. She’s pretty sure he’s had it rough, hell, that’s obvious from his injuries and the way he looked at those cells earlier, but he hasn’t said anything. She’s noticed the way his eyes follow her, how he’s relaxed the closer she is to him, and she has to wonder what he’s thinking, feeling. 

Because she knows how she felt when she first saw him, kneeling there, bleeding to death and watching his family be threatened by a psycho with a bat. 

Terrified, furious, elated. 

She had honed her hunting skills on the road, and when she saw Negan level Daryl with a furious blow to the head, she had been certain of her course of action. She had climbed into those trees, set up her rifle, and with ice in her veins, began hunting. 

Somewhere deep inside, she knew her daddy wouldn’t approve of her actions, even if they were to save Daryl and her family, but after everything, she knew there weren’t many good choices left to make. 

So she made a bad one. 

One that kept her family alive. 

One that got her Daryl back. 

Eventually she gets tired too, years of exhaustion from the constant running and fighting to survive seeming to catch up to her all at once. Sliding down the wall, she’s careful not to shuffle Daryl’s head too much, laying down beside him and gently shifting him so he’s resting on her shoulder, hot breath spreading over her skin in a way that makes her shiver. 

She curls her arm around his shoulder, smiling when he nuzzles into her, his knee hitching up so it’s slung across her thighs, and a shudder runs over her at the heat of his body pressing into her. It’s Daryl she tells herself, it doesn’t  _ mean _ anything, it’s just human instinct to press closer, to seek the security of another body. That’s what she keeps telling herself anyway, listening to his breathing as she struggles to match it with her own, trying to relax. 

Eventually she does, falls asleep, there in his arms. 

* * *

When she wakes up at god knows what hour, she’s sweating, pinned down by a heavy weight, and vaguely disturbed by a dream she can’t quite remember. It lingers, that sick, scared feeling, like the taste of sulfur in the air after fireworks. 

Her head aches and she’s got that sick feeling that Edwards said could come and go, so she slides out from under Daryl carefully, fills a glass with water and sips it slowly, trying to let the sick sensation in her gut and skull slip away. It slows, though her head is still throbbing, and she’s a little dizzy, but at least her stomach isn’t rejecting the water. 

“Beth?”

His voice is low, sleepy and confused, and when she turns, he’s propped up on his bad arm, wincing as he looks up at her, brow furrowed. She gives him a weak smile, fills another glass and takes it over to him, sits back down on the bed, leans against the wall and closes her eyes. She can feel his gaze on her, but that sick feeling is back and she’s trying not to throw up. 

“Ya ok?”

The question is soft, worried, and she can feel him next to her, worrying quietly. 

“It’s my head,” she explains, trying not to talk too loud, “Edwards said the headaches and dizziness would get better over time, but uh,” she winces and swallows a little more water, throat working and for a minute she’s nearly overcome. She’s taking slow, steady breaths, her skin cold and clammy, and when Daryl’s hand lands on her knee, she musters up a weak smile. 

“Seems pretty bad,” he guesses, “ya need something?” 

She makes a soft negative noise and he squeezes her knee, “Ya sure?”

Her lips curl up weakly, eyes slitting open so she can tilt towards him and shake her head once. “I just need to let it pass,” she whispers. 

He nods and shifts so his shoulders are against the corner and then looks a little uncertain, “Ya wanna, I mean, I could, rub yer head?” he offers uncertainly, shaking his head when she’s slow to process the request, “Never mind, was a dumb idea,” he mutters, looking away and flushing. 

She takes him by surprise, leaning over slowly until her head is in his lap, and he’s stiff with nerves until she closes her eyes and relaxes into him. It’s nearly a full minute before his hand touches her head tentatively and she arches her neck, trying to get more, because already it feels good. 

He starts out rubbing his thumbs into the base of her skull and she whines, pressing her face into his thigh, as pain radiates out and then dulls into a throbbing that’s not just pain, but something else. He stills a little at the sound and continues when she doesn’t say anything, moving around the sides of her neck, pressing his thumbs in so she’s melting, gasping as the tension there dissipates like smoke. 

When he moves up to her temples, and consequently the place where her scar starts, she groans at the intense throbbing, tears welling in her eyes. He does stop this time, apologizing and pulling his hands away until she’s forced to open her eyes and half twist to find his gaze. 

“Please, Daryl, don’t stop,” she pleads, and some pained look crosses his face before he’s nodding and reaching for her again. 

His fingers are gentle on her scar, passing over it a few times before he’s pressing down and again, she whimpers and half sobs, tears spilling out at how amazing this feels, how she feels naked in front of him without having to remove a stitch of clothing, how he’s touching her where only she and Edwards have had their hands and it’s good, it’s so  _ good _ . 

Some wall within her breaks when he starts to hum softly, reassuringly, his voice scratchy and low and off key a little, but she can tell he’s tryin, tryin to make her feel better and it’s the first time she’s had that since...since they were together at the funeral home. 

She cries, and he doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps running his fingers through her hair and pressing down on her scar, lighter now, gentler. Eventually the headache and the nausea pass, and she’s cried herself out, somehow still tired despite their nap.  

When she’s quiet, his fingers slow to soft little passes over her hair, callouses snagging strands every few seconds, but she doesn’t mind. 

“Feel better?”

She smiles and nods against his thigh, squeezing his knee before she rolls onto her back and stares up at him, chest aching with every emotion under the sun. “Thank you Daryl,” she whispers, and it’s not just for the massage, it’s for keeping her alive, then and now. 

“S a’right,” he mutters, flushing a little and she smiles, reaches up to cup his chin and nods. 

“I know. But I gotta say thank you. For that,” she hesitates and then lets some of her emotions spill out, “and for keeping me alive. Back at the funeral home.”

His gaze darkens and he looks away, “Shoulda found ya sooner,” he mutters, and it sounds like a curse, like he’s cursing himself for not doing more. 

“Daryl, there was nothin you coulda done,” she whispers, heart in her throat as he shakes his head, hair too long for her to see into his eyes. 

“I shouldn’ta left ya alone,” he growls, “I shoulda never opened that door without thinkin. None a this woulda happened if I hadn’t been so  _ stupid _ ,” he spits, hands tightening into fists at his sides. 

She sits up now, frowning at him, “Daryl, you’re not stupid and it wasn’t your fault. It was a trap. I’m here, I’m fine,” she insists, ignoring his scoff and pointed glance towards her scar. 

He jerks away from her touch, shaking his head, “Nah, I shoulda…” he shakes his head again, voice breaking when he looks away and continues, “I ran all night, tryin, tryin ta find ya. But that car, it just,” he shakes his head again, voice thick, “you were  _ gone _ ,” he rasps, and when he lifts his gaze she can see tears burning in his eyes. 

It breaks her a little, to see his eyes filled with sorrow and self loathing and she launches herself at him, arms wrapping so tight around his neck she’s a little worried she might choke him, but he’s wrapping his around her waist like bands of iron, crying into her hair. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry Beth,” he gasps, chanting his apology as tears roll freely down his cheeks. “Please, I-I’m sorry.” 

She cups his head and presses his face into her throat, tears of her own streaming out silently. 

“I forgive ya Daryl,” she whispers, and he breaks, shatters in her arms. His sobs rip out her guts faster than any walker ever could, sinking deep into her until she’s pressing her face to his hair, whispering over and over, “I forgive ya.”

He didn’t know he needed it, but she did. She could see the grief and the guilt he’s been carrying around, weighing him down like a stone on his back. He needed to be forgiven, even if she doesn’t believe it’s his fault, even if she’d never blame him. 

So she does. 

Because he ran all night to find her, and she’s not gonna let him go now that he has her. 


	3. All That I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are: "Make it Rain" Ed Sheeran, "Long Time Traveller" The Wallin Jenny's and "Take it All" Sawyer Fredericks.

****_~_ Take the hurt in my chest   
Take the pain in my eyes   
Take the fear in my soul   
Take the tears that I cry

**_ Cause you are all that I need~ _ **

* * *

 

It’s at least two more days before he’s fully on his feet without feeling like he’s gonna throw up or pass out and Doc Edwards says his concussion was pretty bad, could have been worse, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. 

A voice in his head that sound a lot like Merle says  _ wouldn’t be able to tell anyway, _ and it almost makes him smile. It’s odd, but, sometimes he hears Merle as clear as day, jokin, cursin, laughing. He’d think he was crazy, but some part of him is glad to hear his big brother’s voice every once in awhile. 

It helps that Beth hasn’t left his side for more than a few hours at a time unless it’s to shower or get them food, and a part of him hates how he can’t stand it when she’s gone—it feels like a weakness, this need he has for her, but he knows that isn’t right. She’s only ever made him stronger, not weaker. 

They’ve spent a lot of time talking, and he’s seen the surprise in her eyes when he opens up to her, tells her about the things that happened after she was taken. She bares her teeth when he talks about  _ claimin  _ and Len and Carl, fingers white where she’s pressing them into the skin of her knee. 

He can easily imagine those delicate white teeth ripping out Joe’s throat, staining her face crimson as she delivers vengeance like an avenging angel. It’s these fanciful thoughts that end up making him blush or stutter and he curses himself, thinkin she must see how he feels, but when he meets her eye again, she doesn’t say anything, just smiles. 

They’re outside together today, up in a watchtower, watching as Rick and the others head out on a run. There’s shopping strips and malls and big houses all around here and the hope is that at least some of it won’t be picked over. 

The sky has been threatening to break open and douse them all with early fall rain, but it keeps holding off, pregnant with expectation and keeps them all on edge. There’s an ugly tinge to the sky when the storm finally breaks, rain coming down in a howling fury, lashing at the tin roof and wood sides of their shelter till it sounds like it’s going to be knocked apart. 

But Beth ain’t scared or worried, in fact, she’s sitting down on the cot in the corner, head against the wall, humming. Her eye catches his and she smiles, starts singing. 

 

_ When the sins of my father _ _   
_ _ Weigh down in my soul _ _   
_ _ And the pain of my mother _ _   
_ _ Will not let me go _ _   
_ _ Well I know there can come fire from the sky _ _   
_ _ To refine the purest of kings _ _   
_ _ And even though _ _   
_ _ I know this fire brings me pain _ _   
_ _ Even so _ _   
_ __ And just the same

 

_ Make it rain _ _   
_ _ Make it rain down low _ _   
_ _ Make it rain _ _   
_ _ Oh make it rain _ _   
_ _ Make it rain _ _   
_ _ Make it rain down low _ _   
_ _ Make it rain _ _   
_ __ Make it rain

 

He almost laughs, lips twitching and eyes shining in amusement, but just shakes his head at her and leans against the cheap particle board that separates them from the storm, watching her watching him. 

 

_ The seed needs the water _ _   
_ _ Before it grows out of the ground _ _   
_ _ But it just keeps on getting hard _ _   
_ _ And the hunger more profound _ _   
_ _ Well I know there can come tears from the eye _ _   
_ _ But they may as well be in vain _ _   
_ _ Even though _ _   
_ _ I know these tears come with pain _ _   
_ _ Even so _ _   
_ __ And just the same

 

The words are haunting for some reason, in a way he can’t define, and they leave a shiver running over his skin. Beth pauses and then hums few notes, eyes curious as she studies him. 

“C’mere,” she murmurs and it’s not an order, but his body takes it as one and he’s across the short distance before he realizes what he’s doing. 

She slides up so her butt is at the top of the cot and pats a hand beside her, looking up at him with those wide blue eyes that he could drown in if she let him. He hesitates for a minute, casting a glance over his shoulder to where he should be looking out the window to keep watch, attention jolting back when her hand closes around his. 

“Don’t worry. Glenn an Maggie used to fool around when they was on watch all the time,” she tells him, utterly without guile or seduction. It’s not her trying anything, it’s just the truth. For some reason that calms him; he’s been around women who were cloying and clinging and crass, every word an intimation of something else, that insinuation never as well hidden as they thought. 

He sinks down, laying his crossbow at his feet, next to her rifle, and when she tugs on his arm and pulls him down so his head is in her lap, he lets her. She starts humming again as her fingers slide through his hair, and he can feel the soft vibrations of it in her bones and on the air. The sound of the rain and the sweet cadence of her voice lulls him into a doze that’s restful and light, like the touch of air on his neck on a hot day. 

It’s easy, this quiet intimacy, in a way that probably would scare him if it was anyone else, but it’s  _ not _ , it’s her, he already knows he can’t lose her again, so why the hell should it matter if he loves feeling her fingers in his hair? 

_ Love _

It’s a strong word, one he hasn’t used out loud in a very long time, but in his head he’s using it a lot more these days, and it makes his limbs weak when he thinks about it too much. He can’t,  _ won’t,  _ say he’s in love with her, because he’s too smart— _ scared? _ —to think she’s ever going to see him as anything other than her friend. 

So yea, maybe he loves the way she smiles at him, or loves the way she laughs when he says something he didn’t realize was funny or loves the way she gets all soft and sleepy when they’re laying together in her bed at night talkin...but that doesn’t mean he’s  _ in love _ with her. 

Maybe. 

He wakes up when the rev of engines overwhelms the sound of the rain and she’s still humming, playing with his hair, nails scraping his scalp in a way that sends shivers over him. He sits up slowly, expecting the dizziness but surprised when it’s slow to come. Her hand falls from his hair to his knee, laying there for a minute before she reaches out and twines their fingers together. 

He squeezes and then jerks his chin toward the window, eyes warm and soft on her when she lets him go so he can make sure it’s just Rick and the rest. He waves a hand to Carol, smirks faintly when he sees Michonne scolding Rick for something and hears Judy callin out for her daddy from where she’s waiting with Rosita in the doorway, hiding from the rain.

They’ve got a lot of supplies to unload from the vehicles; it must have been a good run, even after so many years have passed. Carl and Rosita are climbing up to them and Daryl’s surprised that their shift on watch has ended already. He almost feels guilty for sleeping, but knows that if Beth needed him, she woulda woke him. 

When they get back inside the large warehouse that was once the Savior base, they see that the market area is buzzing with people, eyes wide at the amount of supplies brought back. Apparently one of the shopping malls had barely been touched and in the home of some wealthy asshole they had found a literal bunker full of food and supplies. 

Beth picks through the baskets of clothing, pulling things out and loading them into a plastic shopping basket, grinning up at him when she finds a few shirts in his size. “Yer gonna get cold when the snow comes,” she tells him, glancing pointedly at his bare arms. 

He shrugs and follows along behind her, aware that he looks like a duckling trailing after its momma, but as with most things Beth related, he don’t give a fuck how it looks. By the time they’re done picking through, she has shampoo, conditioner, body wash, clothes for them both, and a guitar. He’d never seen her play, but he’s excited to see what kind of music she can coax from the worn looking wood. 

She hands him the shirts with another amused grin and he rolls his eyes at her but she just grins, knowing there’s no real animosity behind it. When they’ve both showered and he’s put away the clothes she gave him they meet back in the dining hall with the rest of their family. He’s excited to see she’s brought the guitar with her, watching from the corner as she sits down and bends her head over the neck of it, her long blonde hair falling to the side like a spill of sunshine. 

As dinner is prepared and the kids play and people chatter, Beth tunes the guitar softly and then begins to play. It’s quiet at first, more background noise than anything else, but when she starts to sing...the noise in the hall slowly dies away. All eyes turn to her, listening intently as her clear warm voice fills the air. 

_ These fleeting charms of earth _

_ Farewell, your springs of joy are dry _

_ My soul now seeks another home _

_ A brighter world on high _

Her stunning blue eyes meet his as she continues, a faint smile curling her lips as she strums the guitar. It felt like he was falling into those depths with each word, his heart beating irregularly beneath his skin.

_ I'm a long time traveling here below _

_ I'm a long time traveling away from home _

_ I'm a long time traveling here below _

_ To lay this body down _

Beth smiles softly at him and ducks her chin before looking back at her family, watching Rick gently rock Judith to sleep, Michonne’s head resting on his shoulder. Maggie smiles at her, leaning back into Glenn’s arms as they sway gently in place. 

_ Farewell kind friends whose tender care _

_ Has long engaged my love _

_ Your fond embrace I now exchange _

_ For better friends above _

As the song winds down, a string snaps with a twanging sound, surprising Beth and the gathered group. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, she sings the last few bars, her lips twitching in an exasperated sort of smile when the group chuckles and applauds. 

_ I'm a long time traveling here below _

_ I'm a long time traveling away from home _

_ I'm a long time traveling here below _

_ To lay this body down _

“Gonna need new strings, huh Bethy?”

Maggie grins at her sister as the younger woman sets the guitar aside in favor of the food that’s been prepared for dinner, but Beth just nods and gives her a faint smile. 

She glances over at him and looks pointedly at the seat beside her until he shuffles over and takes his place, her smile bright and fast. Their arms and legs brush against each other as food is passed around, the din of the voices in the large room echoing off the concrete walls.

As he looks around he’s struck by the sight of his family. They’re tired and most look older than their age, but the joy in their eyes makes him realize just how much they’ve fought and bled and sacrificed to get to this moment. Beth’s thigh is pressed against his and he glances over at her, a shudder running over his spine when he thinks that she could have been one of the things they lost to get here. 

He did lose her, he knows that, but she’s back, and he has no intention of ever letting her go again. 

* * *

Another week goes by and eventually the guitar loses another string and his frustration at being kept back from runs spills out in a torrent of hot words and acrimony. The tide is slowed by Beth’s gentle hand on his arm and a flash of her bright eyes, and then she surprises them all by declaring that she and he are going on a run. 

Objections and worries were met by her calm rationality, and before he knew it, they were packing and then pulling away from the compound on his recovered motorcycle. 

Her arms are tight around his waist, chin pressing into his shoulder like a reminder that she’s always going to be there, always has been—even when she was gone, she was there, in his mind and heart, keeping him alive with each rhythmic thump and pulse of life in his veins. 

Trees painted with fire and gold flash past as they speed closer to the city, and with each mile that passes a little more tension slips from his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how trapped he felt back at the compound until he wasn’t in its walls anymore. 

The sun plays hide and seek with them, hiding behind clouds, occasionally peeking out to warm the air and light up the foliage in a brilliant display that only Mother Nature could provide. 

As the trees thin and more small towns appear, he starts watching the signs, looking for the town Beth had wanted to visit. It was the closest to Alexandria that had a music supply store and a few other places she wants to check out, all without being too close to DC to warrant a concern over herds. 

They wind through the streets, the rumble of the engine loud in the post apocalyptic silence. He imagines these well maintained sidewalks and parks had once been bustling with humanity, but all that remained now were the shuffling corpses of what had once been people. 

Just as he spots the store ahead her small hands press into his waist and her musical voice speaks into his ear, “It’s just ahead, on the right.” He nods and accelerates slightly before slowing down and drifting to a stop at the corner. 

There’s only a few walkers here, and despite their attention being drawn by the sound and smell of them, he’s not worried. They move quickly and quietly and dispatch them before turning back to the store. It’s mostly untouched, after all, there’s little call for pianists in the end of the world. 

Beth though, she’s tense as a guitar string, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of her knife as they step inside, waiting a moment for any sudden movement or moans to indicate one of the dead is inside with them. 

When nothing moves, they press forward. Beth moves quickly to a carousel holding different types of strings for different instruments, pausing as she studies them. Eventually she grabs a handful and shoves them in her pack before shooting him a pleased grin. 

His lips twitch in a smile and they head back outside, both turning to check and make sure no other walkers are nearby. The silence is unnerving, forcing a near constant state of alertness on them, adrenaline turning their calm into a nervous energy that makes their movements a little jerky, their steps a little faster. 

Ahead is the baby store she had found in the telephone book and they hurry up to knock on the glass, waiting for a response before entering. When nothing comes they push inside, the faint scent of baby powder and wipes still lingering, though faint and marred by decay and death.

They have no idea what Maggie is having, it’s too early at this point for the sonogram at Hilltop to find anything other than a heartbeat, so they grab onsies and shirts and tiny pants in various sizes and colors until her pack is nearly full and he’s smirking as he pulls her away from where she’s staring longingly at a crib. 

“Lil ass kicker didn’t need a crib,” he reminds her, “lil one now won’t either.”

She wrinkles her nose at him and his heart trips, breath faltering in his throat at the way she looks at him, but she doesn’t argue, just follows when he encourages her back outside. 

They tie her pack to the bike and she grabs an empty one from the saddle bag, nodding down the street to where an army supply store is located, door and windows in tact, covered by plywood from the inside. 

This is the one that makes him nervous because after so many years, shouldn’t it be all smashed in? Shouldn’t the store be an eviscerated husk? 

She walks ahead of him, gun drawn as he scans the area, crossbow loaded and ready, and they’re both tense, waiting for something to go wrong. It feels like a ticking bomb, waiting to go off and destroy them and whatever is left of this world, but they maintain their calm and proceed. 

They walk the perimeter of the store, checking for traps, broken windows or walkers and when they find none, he points to a window about a foot from the roof of the building that isn’t covered in plywood. 

Slinging his bow onto his back, he motions to her and she understands instantly. His hand cups her foot and with little effort, he’s boosting her up and up until she can pry it open and slide her head in. She’s silent for a moment and then pulls back to nod at him, eyes oddly grim. 

His heart is in his throat as she climbs through the window but he knows he’s too large to do it instead—doesn’t mean he has to like this, her being out of his sight. 

A moment later the door is opening and she’s smiling faintly at him as he steps in and catches a face full of decay. She nods pointedly towards where a trio of corpses are huddled together and his stomach turns to see that two of them are small—children. 

There’s a gun in the hand of the adult—a woman, he notes, and he chokes on despair when he realizes she must have killed them and then herself. Swallowing down bitter sorrow, he turns away and points to the next door they need to go through, into the main shop and out of this claustrophobic back room. 

Beth follows him cautiously, peering around at the supplies that fill the shop. There’s cammo clothing, knives, guns, ammunition, MRE’s--everything they need to keep surviving. They share a quick grin before going to work, filling their packs with as much as they can grab, and when those are full, grabbing backpacks and canvas totes and filling those too. 

As she’s rummaging through the supplies behind the counter, she finds a set of keys tucked into the drawer with a fob for a car and her heart thumps in delight. If the car is still around they can take damn near everything in the store back to the compound. Tucking them into her pocket, she hurries to find another bag to stuff the supplies in, keeping an eye on Daryl as she works.

It takes nearly an hour for them to sort through everything and find enough bags to store it all, but when they’re done, the store is damn near empty. She grins as she looks around, knowing that these supplies will help keep her family alive makes her swell a little with pride. Not so long ago her usefulness had been limited to taking care of Judy, making food, and doing laundry. She knows those were all essential roles, but it always ate at her that she hadn’t been given the chance to go on runs or fight alongside her family. 

It had always rubbed her the wrong way, being kept back, protected like some child when she had fought alongside her family for every scrap of food and breath of air that kept them all alive through that devastating winter before they found the prison. It was only after she almost died that she found herself, found that steel inner core that she had only briefly tapped into while on the run with Daryl. 

She’s strong now, stronger than she’s ever been, and she thinks maybe the time of running and barely surviving might be coming to an end now that she’s found her family and Daryl again. She can see how much he needs her, how his hands twitch towards her when he thinks she might be in danger, how his posture is alert and stiff when she’s too far away from him, and she thinks, maybe this time she won’t make the same mistakes that kept them apart for nearly two years. 

She won’t leave him behind ever again, even if it means dying. 

They leave their finds in the store while Beth takes a quick patrol around the building, searching for the vehicle that matches the keys. Tucked in the back of the lot is a cherry red Ford F-150, dusty from years of disuse, but still in good condition. Daryl covers her as she jogs over and bends down to make sure there isn’t a walker lurking underneath before she’s unlocking it and hopping inside. 

With a twist of the key, the engine rumbles to life and the gas meter flashes up--a full tank. She breathes out in excitement, turning sparkling eyes to Daryl, grinning broadly. 

“Full tank,” she tells him, laughing a little when his lips quirk up in her favorite version of his almost smile. “I’ll pull up to the front so we can load up,” she tells him, laughing again when he nods and hops up to sit on the side of the truck, legs dangling over the edge and spine braced against the cab. 

She goes slow, not wanting to dislodge him and when they pull to a stop in front of the shop, he hops down and heads inside to start filling the bed of the truck with their newfound hoard. She shuts off the engine and tucks the keys into her pocket before following him in and grabbing as many bags as she can carry. They work in relative silence, wary of attracting too much attention from any walkers that might be lingering nearby, and by the time they’ve filled the bed of the truck, she’s wiping sweat from her brow and accepting the bottle of water Daryl offers her gratefully. 

They pass it back and forth and she flushes a little at the odd intimacy of sharing a bottle of water with him, her gaze lingering on his lips as he swallows and passes it back to her. His gaze meets hers curiously and she ducks her chin, fighting the swell of something unnamed in her stomach. 

“I’ll follow ya back,” Daryl murmurs, jerking his chin towards his bike and she nods, casting a glance down the street, eyes narrowing when three walkers stumble around the corner. His gaze follows hers and they both still for a moment as four more and then more and more come spilling around the street. 

“Shit,” she breathes, and then bursts into motion. 

She knocks his elbow with hers and nods toward his bike, “Go,” she urges, worry in her voice as he pauses and stares at her for a moment, clearly torn. She grips his elbow and shakes her head, “I’ll be fine Daryl,  _ go _ ,” she whispers, eye darting over his shoulder as the first walker starts moaning. 

It’s a sound that never stops being haunting. It echoes on the wind, alerting the others to the fact that prey is nearby, and soon the pack is growling and snapping, lurching towards them a little faster. She’s noticed in the past that when it’s just one or two walkers they’re slow, easily outmaneuvered, but for some reason, when they gang up into packs or herds, they’re almost  _ smart _ .

It’s scary as hell to watch, or be on the run from, and without second thought, she shoves Daryl towards his bike and gives him a sharp look when he opens his mouth to protest. He glances over his shoulder at the approaching pack and swears, hurrying to his bike, pack bouncing on his back. She’s leaping into the truck and turning over the engine when she hears the motorcycle roar to life, the sound nearly loud enough to drown out the oncoming walkers.

When she looks in the rearview mirror her heart thumps and adrenaline makes her stomach lurch because what was seemingly only a dozen or so walkers is now turning out to be many,  _ many _ more. 

They peel away, and she glances back to make sure none of the walkers are close enough to pull Daryl off his bike, sighing in relief when she sees no impending danger. Gunning the engine, she tears down the streets, heading back for the main road they had come in on, and then she’s skidding to a halt when she sees the herd of walkers marching down the road towards them. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” she hisses and wrenches the wheel to the right, going the opposite way they need to be, but it doesn’t matter if they get dead, so that’s the way they’ll go for now. Daryl is close to her bumper and her heart is in her throat as the herd follows them, the other half of it spilling out of the side streets to join into the massive crowd lurching after them. 

They speed down the open road and she spies a sign for what was once a toll road indicating an entrance ramp is just ahead and without second thought she lurches onto it, glancing back to make sure Daryl is still close.

The highway is littered with abandoned cars, forcing her to weave and wind through them until they hit a clear patch and they both gun the engines, heading south as fast as they can. It’s not the way home, but it will draw away the walkers and hopefully send them as far from Alexandria as they can get them without putting themselves in danger. 

By the time her heart starts beating normally again, they’ve gone nearly thirty miles, and she starts focusing on the signs around her, looking for an exit that will get them headed north again. When she spots one, she slows and eases onto it, once again weaving through abandoned vehicles until they’re free and taking another turn that will get them heading north. The sun is lower in the sky and she’s not really sure how far they are from Alexandria or the compound, but she’s pretty sure that Daryl’s bike doesn’t have enough gas to get there. 

They’re going to have to find someplace to fill up, and once more she peers at signs, looking for a gas station or three. When she sees a travel plaza she turns off and they head in slowly, keeping an eye out for walkers. It’s quiet and abandoned, and somehow that’s worse, because the air feels like it’s pregnant, ready to birth forth horrors. 

Over the years she’s come to learn that gas stations hold tanks underground to supply the pumps, and if they’re lucky, one of the three stations at the plaza will still have some left. They don’t strike it lucky until the third and she stands guard while Daryl syphons it out and into his bike. They manage to find a few gas canisters and fill those too, along with empty water jugs, and by the time they’re done, the sun is slipping lower and lower in the sky. 

She glances at her watch and frowns when she sees it’s approaching 6pm; if they don’t find a way back to Alexandria they’ll need to find someplace to hole up for the night. It’s not safe to drive at night, especially knowing there’s a herd lurking somewhere ahead on roads that they aren’t familiar with. 

She watches the road as Daryl rinses his mouth, grimacing at the foul taste of the gas on his tongue, stomach lurching at the sparing amount that washed down his throat as he worked to fill his bike. 

“I think we’re gonna have ta find someplace ta stay the night,” Beth murmurs, glancing over her shoulder at him, eyes clouded with worry. He nods in agreement and she sighs, running a hand over her ponytail, mouth firming as she contemplates where they’re supposed to go. “Ya got the map?” she asks, watching as he nods and goes to pull it out of the saddlebag on his bike. 

They spread it on the hood of the truck and study the roads until they find the small town they’re in, fingers tracing lines until they figure out a path back to the highway and home. She sighs, they went further than she thought, nearly 55 miles to the south and damn, there’s just no way they’ll make it back before dark. She offers him a wry smile, “Guess we’re going campin,” she jokes, hoping to see a smile in return to reassure her that this whole trip hasn’t just been derailed. 

“Saw a sign a ways back fer a bed an breakfast, might be nice,” he suggests, gaze cautious, flickering between her and the hood of the truck like he’s uncertain if she’ll reject his idea. 

“Sounds good,” she agrees, smiling softly at him when he glances back up at her. “I don think either one a us really wants ta sleep in a tent,” she tells him, “not with that herd on the move.”

He nods in agreement and folds the map back up, tucking it into his back pocket before he turns towards her, one hand lifting to cup her jaw, tilting it so his normally wary gaze can peer at her. He’s chewing his lower lip, concern in his gaze and her heart is thumping hard in her chest at the way he’s looking at her. The rough pad of his thumb is pressed into her chin, holding her in place as his gaze runs over her, checking for damage. 

He doesn’t say anything, but she can see it when he relaxes a little, shoulders drooping when he realizes that she’s okay. His thumb caresses her chin and for a moment they’re just staring at each other, cornflower eyes meeting storm blue ones, a feeling in the air that gets trapped between them with each unsteady breath that is taken. 

The wind flutters past them and carried on it is the unmistakable sound of a walker’s moan. The moment shatters and Daryl steps back, clearing his throat and looking away from her, back towards where the sound is growing closer. A walker slips from between the trees and they’re moving, doors slamming and engines revving, and as three more walkers appear behind the first, they’re blowing down the road, leaving them in the rearview mirror. 

Neither of them is sure whether the unsteady beating of their hearts is from fear or adrenaline or the promise that something more was coming, something that had been there before between them and was there once more. 

All they know is that safety and sturdy walls have to be found before nightfall, and everything else has to wait. 


	4. Colour Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are: "Colour Me" Juke Ross, and "Falling" Oh Gravity.

The wind is blowing outside when Beth wakes up, suddenly alert. There’s no moan of walkers, no creaking floorboards to indicate an intruder, nothing but the wind and the wet patter of sleet against the windows. She can’t figure out why she’s awake until a chill shudders down her spine and she realizes that the temperature has dropped since the sun went down hours ago, and the thin jacket she has on isn’t nearly warm enough. 

Daryl had insisted she take the couch closest to the fireplace while he leaned against the wall by the door, keeping watch for them, and it’s only now as she shivers that she regrets agreeing. Peering over at him, she smiles faintly when she sees he’s managed to fall asleep sitting up, crossbow still clutched in his hands. She can’t see how that is even close to comfortable, and she wonders if he’s as cold as she is, but then she remembers all the times they shared a bed and the heat that would radiate out from his skin like a personal furnace. 

She wishes she had some of that heat now to chase the chill from her bones. Still staring at him longingly, she doesn’t really notice the change in his breathing indicating his state of alertness until he’s opening his eyes and lifting a brow at her. 

“Wha’s a matter?” he murmurs, voice low and pitted with exhaustion and she shivers again, not from the cold this time. He sees the motion and frowns, “Ya cold?” he guesses, huffing when she nods reluctantly. He’s on his feet before she can say anything, walking so lightly she’s not even sure his boots are making any noise on the wood. 

She watches him disappear, hears the front door creak open, and is on her feet, knife in hand and heart in her throat as she waits with bated breath for him to return. When he does he’s soaked and shivering, but he’s brought two of the sleeping bags in from the truck and she’s never been so happy to see anything in her life as she is right now looking at his craggy face. 

He hands them to her with one outstretched hand, a nervous look on his face as he waits for her to take it. She frowns softly and steps forward, past the proffered material so she’s standing so close to him she can smell the rain on his skin. He’s shivering and she huffs out a sigh, shaking her head at him, “You’re soaked Daryl, yer gonna get sick,” she scolds, grabbing the sleeping bags and tossing them onto the couch. 

“M’fine,” he murmurs, avoiding her gaze as she scoffs and lifts a hand to press against his cheek. At the touch he drops his gaze to hers, his eyes intent and wide. She’s surprised to feel how warm he is, despite the freezing rain having soaked through his clothes. 

“You should get outta those wet things,” she whispers, brushing his hair back from his face with a soft smile. “Don’t wanna catch a cold.”

He hesitates and then nods, but stays still, eyes meeting hers as she remains, hand on his cheek, eyes locked firmly with his. The dying fire is painting his skin copper and red, colouring him in around the edges of the night, and it takes her breath away, how beautiful he looks. She doesn’t remember taking a step closer, but she’s forced to bend her neck further to keep staring into his gaze, her fingers trailing down his skin to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer. 

His eyes are flickering between her lips and her eyes and she can hear their breathing, a little too loud, a little too fast, and she thinks the fire must have grown because suddenly it’s warm and her skin feels flushed. 

Her hands move without much thought to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly as she stares up at him, captivated by the storm in his eyes; bright and just as electric as the lightning outside. When his shirt is hanging open her hands skim over the smooth planes of his chest, pushing the fabric of his vest and worn cotton shirt off his arms until he’s half bare to her. 

She can feel him shiver under her touch, how his stomach rolls with unsteady breaths as her hands trace the firm lines of muscle, her gaze riveted to the path they’re tracing. He isn’t stopping her, and she’s not sure why, but she’s going to take this moment and explore the  _ thing _ that’s been lingering between them since that night at the funeral home.

_ Oh _

It’s been so long since that moment, years, but she remembers the look in his eye like it was yesterday, remembers the way it had made her heart trip and her cheeks flush at the realization that he cared about her, cared what she thought of him, cared enough to want to make her happy. 

His fingers twitch at his sides and she pauses for a moment before reaching down to twine their fingers together, squeezing them reassuringly as she smiles up at him softly. She lifts their joined hands and guides his much larger one to rest on her hip, exhaling unsteadily at the weight of it on her. 

She forgets sometimes how large he is; (much larger than her anyway) he’s spent years hunched and hiding from the eyes of the world, trying to diminish himself so no one sees anything more than a dirty redneck with too long hair, a perpetual frown, and a surly attitude. It’s a mask, she knows, but a good one. 

She thought much the same of him when she first saw him back on the farm, only glimpsing at the gold heart lying within that strong chest, protected by armor of anger, fear and loneliness. Her fingers trace over his chest and stomach, lingering on the scars, her bright blue eyes flicking up to his to find him watching her intently through the heavy fringe of his hair, eyes wary. 

Watching him carefully, she leans in and presses her lips to one right over his heart, two inches long and ragged, knotting the skin in a way she knows means it was infected and untreated. She can feel it when he exhales, raspy and shaky, his hand on her hip tightening involuntarily. 

Lifting her chin to peer up at him, she smiles softly. “Yer beautiful Daryl,” she tells him warmly, smile widening when he blushes and glances away, shaking his head in disagreement. “Daryl,” she whispers, smiling comfortingly when he looks back up at her, throat working hard, a nervous kind of hope in his eyes. 

She rises on her toes, lifting her hands to cup his face, her gaze intent on his and she can see the fear in his gaze, hear the way he’s breathing and it breaks her heart a little. He’s never thought he was worthy of the love their odd little family has shown him, and though she doesn’t know the reason for sure, she heard enough from Carol that she has her suspicions. 

“You are  _ beautiful  _ Daryl Dixon and I missed ya everyday that we were apart,” she whispers intently, watching as his eyes widen and his lips part with a surprised sigh. His other hand has found her hip and he’s holding on to her tight, tighter than he ever has before and she thinks she knows why, but she’s scared, probably just as scared as he is to find out. 

She’s cared about him, trusted him for as long as she can remember and she’s not sure where along the way that affection and trust were joined by a wanting that made her heart beat faster and a love that made her sure and strong and steady. Maybe it was when she was relearning how to walk and talk and with every painful step and word she heard his gravelly voice in her head, encouraging her to take another step, speak another word, don’t stop, don’t give in, don’t be another dead girl. 

They’ve found each other in the aftermath of the end of the world, and she knows,  _ knows _ that they’ll make it through anything together. With a smile that can only be described as beaming, she stares up at him with shining bright eyes and nods faintly, decision made. 

Swaying into him, her eyes flutter closed as her lips find his, a soft sigh of delight slipping from between them as his hands on her hips tighten sharply and then pull her closer. He makes a soft noise and when she pulls away slightly he chases her lips, a low noise coming from deep in his chest as her tongue flicks against his, sending electricity up his spine. 

It feels like his lungs are on fire, but he can’t stop kissing her, not now, not now that he’s finally found the courage to embrace her like this. She’s pressed firm against him, arms wound around his neck and fingers twined tight through his hair as their lips move against each other and he thinks distantly that  _ this _ is how he’d like to die. 

He can’t remember ever kissing a woman like this; like her lips held the secret to his happiness, like her embrace could hold together all the broken pieces inside him, maybe make him whole again, and maybe he hasn’t kissed that many women, but he knows whatever this is between them, it’s rare. 

Eventually Beth pulls back and holds onto his shoulders as she slides back down to the flats of her feet, her eyes slightly dazed, lips red and swollen and wet and he swallows hard, desire pulsing in his veins with every breath that he looks at her. She smiles giddily and he can’t help the smile that answers hers. He drops his forehead onto hers, eyes dropping closed as he breathes her in, inhaling the clean scent of her skin. 

She’s painted him red in places he was blank before, made him dream of things he’s never hoped for, coloured his soul with her hands and lips and heart so he’ll never be anyone but hers, and he shivers at the thought that he could  _ ever  _ be hers, that she might claim him like that. 

His hands have found their way under the hem of her sweater, palms splayed out against her spine, thumbs caressing her smooth, soft skin, and he’s drowning in sensation, drowning in  _ her _ , and when he kisses her again, it feels like taking a breath. She makes a soft noise against his lips and he inhales it eagerly, feels her tremble against him, hears her soft sigh as his lips brush hers over and over again and he wonders if this is what love feels like--fire and light and a sense of belonging. 

They break apart again and they’re both breathless, clinging to each other like bulwarks in a storm. 

Beth smiles, lips pressed into his throat so he can feel it, and as her fingers trail over the skin of his back, she pauses, feeling deep welts in the skin, deeper than those on his chest and like a bolt of lightning, she knows. She knows that these are marks that someone else put on him and a terrible rage roils within her for a moment before she swallows it down and caresses them gently, feeling the shiver that runs over his skin. 

“You need dry clothes,” she reminds him, words whispering over his skin. 

He hums in agreement, but doesn’t let go of her just yet. He doesn’t want to lose the feeling of her, pressed into him, soft and warm and sweet. 

She’s the first to pull away, giving him a regretful smile before she’s grabbing his pack and pulling out a clean, dry sweater and pants for him. He takes them and pauses when she doesn’t let go, just holds on and stares up at him, blue eyes wide and clear like the sky. 

_ Oh _

She smiles softly and releases the clothing, turning back to the fire to watch it burn while he changes. It’s getting low, and it’s a long time till day, so she tosses another log on, watching as the flames crackle higher, heat eddying out to lick at her toes. 

She hears shuffling behind her and turns, smiling when she sees Daryl laying out the sleeping bag on the rug, the couch cushions pulled down under it for a thicker padding against the cold floor. He’s put on the dry jeans but left his shirt off and she can feel her eyes widen when they land on the marks now visible on his back. 

When he looks up at her she swallows hard and crosses the short distance between them, sinking down onto the flannel of the sleeping bag behind him, tucking her feet beneath her. He takes a seat and they lean into each other, faces burnished by the growing flames. 

Her cheek is pressed into his shoulder, her torso hugging his, and her fingers trace slowly over the marks, sending shivers over his skin again and again. She wants to know, but she doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to hurt him by asking him to talk about it. She has her own scars so she knows that sometimes it’s easier to cover them up, pretend they don’t exist, pretend that thing had never hurt her, but in the end, it’s a lie, and she doesn’t lie to him and he doesn’t lie to her. 

Daryl can tell she wants to know and he’s surprised by how easy it is to start talking, tell her everything. 

“Merle ‘n me, we had a few years between us, an he was always getting in trouble an dragging me along. Eventually he left, and our daddy started beatin me like he had Merle. Didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do, he’d beat me just for breathin it felt like sometimes.”

She swallows hard and nods faintly against his shoulder, eyes burning with the threat of tears, but she strangles them because this isn’t her pain, it’s his, no matter how much it kills her to hear this. 

“He beat me near to death when I was 16, beat me till it felt like somethin inside me had broken, and then he jus...left me.”

A choked noise of rage dies in her throat and her arm wrapped around his waist tightens, her fingernails dig into his skin for a moment before she takes a deep breath and turns her face to press a kiss to one of the scars. 

Daryl’s breath hitches and she feels the shudder that runs over his spine, hears the quaver in his voice as he continues. 

“He was a long haul trucker and an addict. One night he got loaded and drove his truck straight off a bridge. After that it was jus me awhile, an then Merle came back and we got inta trouble fer a long time.”

He makes a noise that’s almost a laugh and her lips curl into a faint smile at the sound. She presses her lips against his skin and this time his large hand covers hers at his waist, draws it down into his lap to twine their fingers together. 

“I miss him,” he admits, “he weren’t the best brother, but…” he sighs and it sounds weary and a little lost, “he was all I had left.”

She nods in understanding and holds his hand a little tighter. 

“You aren’t alone anymore,” she reminds him, words whispering against his skin. “Everyone back there is your family, they love you,” she laughs unevenly, “me included.” 

There’s a long, heavy moment of silence and then he’s twisting to face her and his arm is lifting and draping around her shoulders and she looks up at him, surprised. He’s flushed, whether from the flames or something else, and she smiles softly at the sight and leans into him so she can press a kiss to his cheek. 

He rests his cheek on her head and she turns toward him more, nose resting in the hollow of his throat as her eyes fall and flutter, drowsiness like warm molasses in her veins. When she’s half asleep she can feel him gently turning them so they’re laying down, her cheek pressed to his chest, arms and legs wrapped together in a tangle. 

He watches her sleep for a time, fascinated by the way her lids flutter as she dreams, entranced by the soft sighs that escape her lips. He’s held her dozens of times before this, but he’s never just  _ looked _ at her, seen the delicate blue veins under her skin or the tiny little curls that escape from her braid to frame her face. 

She’s so much softer than him, despite nearly dying and walking for hundreds of miles to find him, she’s soft and warm with a kind heart and a core of iron. She believes in him like it’s faith, like he’s infallible, and he doesn’t know why, because he did fail, he failed her and she almost died because of it. 

He doesn’t think he deserves to have her look at him like she does, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to have her touch him like she did, but he’s selfish enough to want it, and now that he has it, he’s not letting go any time soon. 

* * *

They’re greeted like conquering heroes upon their return and when Maggie is given the hoards of baby supplies, she promptly starts crying and pulls both of them into a hug that’s long and teary and makes something in Daryl twist, because if Rick’s his brother, Maggie’s his sister and it feels so good to love again that it almost hurts. 

They aren’t alone again for a few hours and when they are, it’s fleeting moments that are gone too quickly for him to ask her about what she meant by  _ me included _ . Does that mean she loves him? It’s an absolutely terrifying thought, but in the way it felt when he first rode a motorcycle or jumped his bike over Deep Creek Gorge or kissed Beth for the first time. It makes his heart skip and excitement tear through him and he just, he needs to  _ know _ .

* * *

It’s snowing out, colder here than Georgia, and he’s grateful for the sweaters that Beth had made him take, and for the fireplace in the house. They’ve moved back to Alexandria after a shorter than he expected discussion, and to the surprise of everyone including him, they’re living together. 

She has her own room and they have their family over for dinner after a week of things being hastily prepared for the northern winters they’re all unaccustomed to. Carl and Enid sit together talking quietly while Rick and Michonne look on, Judith sleeping spread out across their laps. Maggie and Beth are in the kitchen cleaning up while Daryl and Glenn play cards by the fire and when she looks out at them all, Beth feels happy, truly happy, for the first time in a very long time. 

“So, does this mean you and Daryl are together?”

Beth hides a grin at the predictability of her sister’s question behind a mug of coffee. Her eyes are merry when they meet Maggie’s and with a slight roll of her eyes she leans against the counter and stares out at the man in question. 

“We haven’t discussed it,” she murmurs, “but I don’t think we need labels in times like these, huh?” she asks, glancing over at her sister with a wry grin. “It doesn’t matter if he’s my boyfriend or lover or husband.”

Daryl glances over at them and Beth smiles softly, eyes radiating everything they haven’t said yet and she laughs faintly when he blushes and ducks his head. 

“He’s a good man Maggie and I’m lucky he cares about me the way he does,” she tells her sister before shooting her a parting look that says the topic is closed for discussion before she rounds the kitchen island and heads over to the wingback chairs he and Glenn are occupying. She perches on the arm of the chair and leans into him, smiling when he shifts his cards to the other hand so he can wind an arm around her waist. 

There’s a moment of surprise that ripples through the room before the attention, however brief it was, is off them. Beth lifts a hand to toy with his hair, frowning at how long its gotten. She’ll have to see if she can get him to let her trim it soon. 

Eventually people trickle out until it’s just them left and with a content little sigh, Daryl pulls her into the chair with him so her legs are dangling over the side and her head is resting on his shoulder, watching as the flames in the fireplace die slowly. 

They’re silent for so long that when he finally does speak, it startles her out of the half doze she was in. 

“Whatcha mean by  _ me included _ ?” he asks, voice raspy from nerves, throat dry and half choking his words. 

Beth smiles faintly for a moment before lifting her head to peer into his eyes. They’re wild and intense in the light of the fire and it sends a shiver over her skin. Lifting a hand to cup his cheek, she smiles softly, eyes warm with affection. 

“It means I love ya Daryl. It means I don’t want to live without you, laugh without you, hope without you.” Her thumb strokes his cheek and she shakes her head gently, “There’s never gonna be an end to this love, no matter how long I live or how far apart we are.” 

His eyes are wide and his heart is pounding in his chest and he doesn’t know what to say, but eventually something slips out. 

“How long?”

She frowns faintly and he clears his throat and tries again. 

“How long will ya love me?”

Beth grins faintly and rubs her thumb along his bottom lip, sending a shiver over his body. 

“Forever.”

He nods and turns his chin to press a kiss to her palm and something in her swoons a little, because he’s the sweetest man she’s ever known, and she wishes they had figured this out two years ago, because then she woulda had more time with him, woulda known that it coulda been like  _ this _ every day. 

“Forever isn’t nearly long enough,” he murmurs before leaning up to kiss her, his lips soft and pliable against hers. She hums in agreement and smiles as his lips and hands pull her closer; she feels like she’s falling, but she knows he’s gonna be there to catch her, no matter what. 

He’s right; forever isn’t nearly enough time together, but she’ll take it.


	5. Not Nearly Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the end of the story!! Thank you all so much for your comments and for the encouragement, I love this fandom and I’m so happy to have created something for it. 
> 
> Songs for this chapter: “Heaven Help Me” Emily Hearn, “Colour Me” Juke Ross, and “Falling” oh gravity. 
> 
> Playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/user/h8zhsilbhzlfphod5alsli88e/playlist/5hicVeL5TS0nAp7wS3po7L?si=14v3xf8EQSm3N_dGgfK9mw

By the end of the month they’re sleeping in the same bed, their clothes hang next to each other in the closet, and everyone knows that they’re together. Beth didn’t think it was possible to be any happier, but when Daryl reminds her that it’s Christmas in a few days, her heart feels like it might burst. 

They go out on a run so she can scrounge together presents for her family, and despite his teasing that it’s unnecessary and unsafe, she can see how much he’s enjoying walking through the dilapidated shopping center holding her hand and occasionally stopping to pick something up and put it in his pack. 

Carol had promised pie if Beth could find the ingredients, and to her utter delight, they find everything she needs, along with an apron that says KISS THE COOK that makes Beth giggle and Daryl shake his head with a wry grin. 

By the time they make it back to Alexandria, the snow is blowing and drifting across the roads and she’s grateful they left when they did. She’ll be even more grateful when they’re inside, snuggled up by the fire, but for now they have to unload the truck before any cuddling can happen. 

Daryl takes off for a quick hunt beyond the wall and she busies herself with unpacking and wrapping his present in some old newspapers. When she’s done, the sky outside is purple and grey and she’s starting to wonder where Daryl is, but she knows how adept he is in the woods, so she tells herself not to worry. 

Instead she heads upstairs, determined to take a hot shower after such a long day. She’s stripped off her dirty clothes and is shivering as she grabs sweatpants and a hoodie when Daryl lurches through the door, blushing immediately when he sees her in just her underwear. 

She knows what people think about them, knows they assume that they’ve already had sex, but they haven’t, and as much as she’s wanted to Daryl has been careful about how much or how long he kisses her, touches her. 

She thinks that maybe he’s nervous, and she wants to tell him she is too, but everytime the situation warrants the conversation, he neatly avoids it by heading out for watch or a hunt or a run. 

He’s staring at her now, eyes wide and cheeks burnished by desire and without thinking, she drops her clothes and turns to face him, letting him get a better look at the icy blue lace bra and underwear she’s wearing. 

It’s thin material, so he can see her pale skin and pink nipples through it and further down, the blush of gold between her legs. 

It feels like his whole body has gone numb at the sight of her, his frozen limbs warm rapidly as desire flushes under his skin. His chest spasms as he forgets to breathe and then he’s sucking air into his lungs, still staring at her. 

“Beth…”

He doesn’t get more than that out before she’s crossing the room and tilting her chin up at him, a determined gleam to her eye. Her hands find his waist and when she leans up to kiss him, his automatically fall to her hips, pulling her closer even as he’s thinking he needs to get  _ away  _ because he’s filthy and sweaty and she’s damn near pure sunshine that he doesn’t want to taint. 

She doesn’t let him though, her fingers are knitted in the leather of his vest as she deepens the kiss, pulling him in so their bodies are slotted together and he can feel the heat of her, even through all his layers. He groans into the kiss, desire building in him like an inferno, slowly, and then blazing through every available path until he’s panting for air against her lips and groaning as his hands slip down to cover her ass.

She’s tiny, nearly a foot shorter than him, and he’s distantly amazed at the strength in her as she pushes against him till his back is hitting the door and she can grab his shoulders and arch up, demanding with her mouth and hands and hips for him to pick her up.

He gives in to that demand and hoists her up, one arm banding under her ass as the other hand slides up her spine to tangle in her hair and press her even closer. She’s making soft, pleased noises and he doesn’t ever think he’s heard anything quite as amazing until he nips at her bottom lip and she gasps his name in a voice so husky and half wrecked it throws gasoline onto the inferno inside him. 

He pulls her even tighter against him, hands pressing into her skin so hard he’s sure he’s going to leave marks, but he just can’t stop; can’t stop touching her, can’t stop kissing her, can’t stop loving her. She’s making soft throaty noises as her fingers tug at his hair, her lips curled into a smile against his, a warm ache in her chest at his eager hands moving against her body. 

He stumbles when his knees connect with the bed and then they’re falling onto the plush fabric of the mattress, laughing softly against each other’s lips. 

“‘M sorry, I’m no good at this,” Daryl admits, shaking his head even as Beth grins at him and runs her fingers through his hair. 

“Yer perfect Daryl,” she whispers, fingers tracing gently over his face as he peers nervously down at her. He blushes and shakes his head, silently denying her words, thinkin how he’s anything  _ but _ perfect. Beth frowns softly and leans up on one elbow, her chest pressing to his as she traces his lips with her fingers. 

“Daryl, ya are, yer perfect because yer _ mine _ ,” she tells him softly. “Yer sweet and smart and funny, ya take care of me and our family and ya love me like it’s yer job,” she tells him, smiling softly in amusement. He snorts, but his lips curl up in a faint smile and she leans in to kiss him sweetly, fingers curling around his jaw. 

When she pulls away she nips at his lower lip and whispers huskily, “Make love ta me Daryl.” Heat surges through her veins when he growls and captures her lips with his, body pressing her down into the mattress. Her hands push and tug at his clothes, shoving his jacket and shirt off, a laugh breaking in her throat as his lips find the delicate skin there, nipping and licking until she’s panting and rolling her hips into his. 

His mouth trails down, leaving throbbing marks over her throat and clavicle before it descends to nip along the line of lace covering her breasts. Beth whimpers as his mouth closes over one of her nipples, sucking through the fabric till its standing at attention and aching. He switches to the other, hands branding into her skin with every touch and caress until she’s gasping and moaning his name softly. 

He thinks he might die, here, like this because it’s the most goddamn glorious thing he’s ever experienced. Beth is gasping below him, pupils wide and eating away at the cornflower blue of her irises, pale skin flushed pink as she moans his name, fingers clutching at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. 

She’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, and the sounds she makes are even sweeter as his lips slide down her taut stomach, teeth nipping at her hip bone before finding the waistband of her underwear. He can smell her arousal and it’s dizzying, making his throat clench and his heart thump irregularly.

He’s slept with all of two women; one from a bar and one after everything went to shit. He’d been nearly blind drunk both times, and he doesn’t really remember much, but he  _ does _ remember all the times Merle had blabbered on about lickin a woman’s pussy real good. 

At the time he had been disgusted, thinking that he’d never do it, not with the way Merle described it, but now...now that he’s smelling her arousal and his mouth is watering and his cock is hard in his pants, there’s nothing,  _ nothing _ he wants more than to taste her. 

She lifts her hips to help him remove the lacy underwear, hastily tugging at the hooks on her bra, cursing when it won’t come immediately loose, and then tosses it aside to joint the underwear on the floor. When his large calloused hands cover her thighs and press them far enough apart for him to lift them over his shoulders, she inhales sharply, fingers digging into the sheets as she watches him. 

His beard burns against her skin as he nips at her thighs and hips and she’s panting, too loud it seems, but the noise that comes from her throat when his tongue darts delicately between her lips makes her flush with embarrassment, embarrassment that fades quickly as he continues. 

Chest rising and falling rapidly, she whines in disbelief at the sensation that floods her veins, clenching her teeth to try and keep the sound in, but failing, failing miserably. She had fooled around a little with Jimmy before he died, and then slept with Zach, but neither experience had been that tremendous. 

Now, as Daryl flicks his tongue against her clit, she moans and gasps, pulse thrumming so fast in her chest it feels like she’s floating, dizzy and lightheaded. He’s moaning against her, low, gravelly sounds that vibrate against her skin and make her shift needily. He switches between flicking at her clit and thrusting his tongue into her, the variation in sensation making her whine and gasp, blood boiling under her skin, skin that feels two sizes too small and lungs that feel like they can’t get enough air no matter how hard she breathes. 

Light sparkles under her skin, behind her eyes, and a pressure is building in her belly that she’s familiar with from her own fingers, hastily rubbing on her clit in the dark, moans of pleasure dying behind her teeth so Edwards doesn’t know what she’s doing. 

“Daryl, huh, oh  _ god _ ,” she gasps, flush rising on her skin like a wave as her thighs tremble and her throat goes dry with the pitch of her moans. When the wave crashes, she goes with it, hips rolling up into Daryl’s mouth, sharp gasping moans rasping in her throat. 

Daryl groans against her cunt, fingers digging into her skin as he licks against her clit, cock throbbing in his jeans at the sounds she’s making. There’s some part of him that can’t believe he’s even allowed to do this, to touch her like this, to love her like this, but he’s damn well not going to stop. Not unless she asks him to. 

She doesn’t.

When he finally pulls away, his beard is wet with her release and it floods his nose before he wipes it on the sheets and allows her hands to pull him up into a breathless kiss. She moans, tasting herself on him, nails digging into his shoulders as her lean body rolls into his, the friction making her body glow. 

“Damn girl, I ain’t never seen anything so beautiful,” he whispers against her lips, minutely shaking his head in disbelief. He’s awed, kissing her with an intensity that leaves her breathless and his heart aching with the way he loves her. 

She smiles against his lips, hands trailing down to cup him through the rough fabric of his jeans so he lets out a grunt and gasps against her mouth. He trembles, unsure if he’s gonna cum if she keeps touching him, panic seizing him. He doesn’t want that, he wants to be inside her if he can, wants to feel her beautiful body surrounding him. 

He carefully pulls her hands from him and sheds his jeans, watching as her eyes trail down to where his cock is swollen and leaking against his hip. When she reaches out he grabs her wrist and shakes his head, “Beth, I ain’t…” he pauses, embarrassed, and then continues, “I ain’t as young as ya are, and I ain’t done this much,” he warns. 

She smiles softly and leans up, cupping his face with one hand, eyes warm with affection. “Daryl, darlin, I don’t care if ya’ve got all the experience of a damn porn star, or if yer as old as Methuselah, I want you,” she tells him, voice light with amusement and affection. 

He stares at her in disbelief for a moment before a surprised laugh breaks its way out of his chest and then she’s giggling and wrapping her arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his so her voice is right in his ear. “I love ya, ya silly man. Now come on, make love to me,” she encourages, rocking forward into him. 

Grabbing her hips, he pulls her into his lap, groaning as her cunt slides slickly against his cock. Her hands brace on his shoulder and she arches into him, and then, she’s lowering herself onto his cock, thighs shaking and hands clenching. 

Her breath comes out in a sharp gasp as he lifts his hips and presses further into her, but when he stops, unsure if he’s hurt her, she shakes her head and sinks down further until he’s fully in her and god,  _ god _ , he’s not sure he remembers how to breathe anymore. 

She’s hot and wet and soft and her breasts are pressed into him as she stares into his eyes, gaze a little glazed as she starts to rock. They both moan at the sensation, hands scrambling for purchase in sweat slicked skin, mouths desperately coming together with wet, needy sounds lurching from their throats. 

Daryl is sure he’s never experienced anything like this; Beth is rocking against him, slow and steady, and her pink lips are parted as she moans his name, eyes bright with what look like unshed tears. “I love you,” she whispers, over and over again, peppering his face with kisses as his hands spread across her spine and pull her even closer.

His chest feels like it’s going to crack wide open as her hands cup the back of his neck and her eyes flutter, lips parted around soft moans. She’s stunning and he can’t believe she’s in his arms and that he’s somehow gotten lucky enough for her to love him like this. 

One of his hands slide up to find her breast, rough calluses dragging against her soft skin as his palm covers it, turning and caressing the nipple till it’s dusty pink and flushed, aching with pleasure at his touch. 

Beth moves restlessly, brokenly gasping his name as she rides him faster, arching into the sweet pleasure of his cock filling her, tendrils of fire curling up her spine with each powerful thrust of his hips. 

“T-touch me,” she gasps, “please” she begs, meeting his hungry gaze with a needy one. He nods unevenly and slips his hand down to cover her waist, thumb finding her clit and stroking as she keeps riding him, soft cries growing louder. 

Daryl grits his teeth against the moan he knows would be too loud, choking it off into something strangled and desperate. Her walls flutter and clutch at him as he thrusts, growing faster as the tension in his body builds and he’s not sure he’s gonna be able to hold back before she comes again and his chest flutters with something a little panicky. 

“Beth,” he rasps, groaning when she moans at the depth and gravelly quality to his voice, hips bucking faster against his thrusts. “Beth, girl, ya gotta,” he chokes and can’t keep talking, not when he’s trying to get her off and not come himself. 

Burying his face against her throat, he pants unevenly, grunting when her fingers knot in his hair, tugging occasionally. He nips and licks at her sweaty skin, thumb moving frantically on her clit, desperation coloring both of their voices as they move against each other. 

“Daryl...I-I’m close,” Beth gasps, whining as his teeth close over one of her nipples, her hips moving in frantic circles against him, the pitch of her cries rising as he thrusts harder and harder into her, his grunts and groans as loud as her wrecked cries of his name. 

With one last hard thrust and one more flick of her clit and his tongue on her breast, she comes. She stiffens in his arms, crying out his name around little gasping  _ ah ah ah’s _ until she falls silent, entirely overcome. 

Daryl groans into her neck, three short thrusts and he’s following after her, sobbing out her name against her skin as he spills into her, skin shivering as her nails bite into him. They slow as she rocks against him, her cunt milking his cock with slow, near painful squeezes on his oversensitive skin. 

Lips pressed in an open mouth kiss to her throat, Daryl trembles in her arms, overcome by emotion and sensation. He’s never felt anything like  _ that _ , and as he listens to her harsh breathing, he wonders if it could possibly be any better. He doesn’t think so, but he’s eager to find out. 

Eventually she shifts and his cock slides from within her, cum running out and trickling down her thighs in a way that makes her shiver. She doesn’t let him go though, instead she pushes him back against the pillows and smiles into his skin as his long tanned arms wind around her. 

They don’t speak, not yet. 

Eventually the grandfather clock in the living room downstairs chimes midnight and she lifts her head to smile at him and press a kiss to his lips. 

“Merry Christmas Daryl.”

They aren’t actually sure if it’s Christmas Day or Eve or what, but it didn’t stop their family from planning out a celebration. Gifts and food and drinks, and possibly the happiest time they’ve all had since the world ended. 

He smiles and kisses her back, dirty fingers tangling in her sunshine hair, the warm whiskey taste of her lips making him dizzy. 

“Merry Christmas Beth.”

* * *

They’re all sitting together in the living room, eating cookies and drinking, the fireplace merrily crackling away as presents are passed around and opened.

Carol grins happily at the apron and promises more cookies, to the delight of everyone. Rick admires the St. Christopher medal Michonne gave him while she plays with the simple gold band he had put on her ring finger. 

Maggie and Glenn are surrounded by baby clothes and diapers and toys; their family had supplied them with damn near everything they’d need, and it makes Beth’s heart ache a little to think that her daddy won’t be here to see his first grandbaby.

She’s reclining against Daryl’s chest, his present burning a hole in her pocket, but she wants to wait till it’s a little quieter, when people will be less likely to notice, so she stays where she is, smiling and talking and feeling happier than she ever had before.

Eventually she stands, taking Daryl’s hand and pulling him along with her, stepping out onto the porch and into the snow. She shivers a little and grins when Daryl immediately pulls her against him, his bare arms radiating more heat than a furnace. 

Resting her cheek against the wool of his shirt, she inhales the warm scent of his skin, as comforting to her as fresh baked cookies, but better—because he’s all hers. 

After a few minutes she pulls back and reaches into her back pocket, pulling out the present she had saved for him. Her daddy had given Glenn his pocket watch, and she knew how much that meant to her brother in law, but there hadn’t been time to take anything else before the herd and the fire, but when she had recovered enough to really start nagging Edwards about going after her family, she had gone back. 

The farm had been in ruins, barn burnt to a husk, house trampled and torn apart, but miraculously, still intact. She had hunted through the remains until she found what she was lookin for in the attic: the deed to the farm, signed by her great-great grandad in faded ink from 1803. 

She’s heard Daryl talk about the transient lifestyle he lived with his father and Merle, and she hopes that he’ll understand that this gift, it means that they’ll always have a home, even if it is in ruins right now. 

When she hands it over she watches carefully as he reads the paper, brow furrowing deeply. She can see the confusion in his eyes and smiles softly, wrapping her thin fingers around his wrist and squeezing. 

“It’s the deed ta the farm. It’s gonna be ours, someday. We’ll make it inta a home again and raise our babies there, because Daryl, we’re gonna take back the world from the dead and start living again,” she tells him fiercely, gaze intent on his. 

Daryl’s heart feels like it’s damn near gonna pound right outta his chest, thinkin bout all the things she just said, all the things she wants with him. Home, love, babies…

It’s more than he ever coulda hoped for a dirty old redneck like him. 

His arms wrap around her as his fingers curl under her jaw, holding her as he kisses her, pouring his love into the embrace. When they separate, her cheeks are pink and his skin is warm, but he’s never letting her go, not again. 

From his pocket he fishes out the small package he’d wrapped oh so carefully in faded red wrapping paper. Handing it over, he watches as she opens it, stares for a moment and then laughs, eyes bright as she looks up to him, lips curled in the most brilliant smile he’s ever seen. 

“In case ya ever get lost again,” he murmurs, fingers tapping on the glass face of the compass. He’d taken the damn thing apart, careful not to lose any of the pieces before using a marker to write over the N for north with a D for Daryl instead. It was perhaps a little silly, but looking at the expression on her face now, he knows it’s perfect. 

Her lips quirk in a faint smirk and she twines her arms around his neck, blue eyes sparkling and playful. 

“Would ya miss me if I was gone?” she teases. 

His mouth curls into a wry smile as his hands grasp her hips, a warm, content feeling settling in his chest with a sense of rightness that makes his heart lurche a little. 

“Every damn day,” he tells her truthfully, bending his neck till his lips hover over hers. 

She grins and sways up, lips brushing his lightly. 

“Heaven help me, Daryl Dixon, I dunno how I ever lived without you,” she whispers before pressing her lips to his again, and he can taste the whiskey on her tongue and the scent of her hair is like wildflowers and sunshine and all he can say when she finally lets him go is, “Then don’t.”

* * *

It takes a few years, but eventually they get back down to the farm, repairing it slowly over time, killing off the walkers, working the fields, making cautious contact with other survivors till a community starts to blossom.

Maggie and Glenn stay at Hilltop and eventually Rick, Michonne, Carl and their new baby girl Joy, move into the farm a few acres away. 

Things aren’t like they were before, but they’re good. 

The community works to find and put down walkers, grow crops and breed animals, have parties and funerals, and eventually, that’s the new normal. 

When Beth misses first one period and then another she goes to the local nurse and gets a pregnancy test, heart beating irregularly and stomach in knots till it’s back- _ positive _ -just like she thought. 

She’s half paying attention as Daryl tells her about the hunting trip he just got back from, and when he notices, he’s worried, so he pulls her into his arms as he helps do the dishes, wet hands making her dress stick to her skin. 

She stares up at him with wide eyes and then takes his hand, shifts it to her belly and smiles faintly. It takes him half a beat before he understands and his head goes blank, heart thundering away between his ears before he’s letting out a wrecked noise, tears burning in his eyes as he falls to his knees. 

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he presses his cheek to her belly, tears rolling down his cheek as her fingers card through his hair over and over again. 

“I was thinking we could call her Lilah Ann after yer momma,” she whispers and his heart damn near stops as he looks up at her, tears blurring his eyes and burning tracks down his cheeks. 

She cups his cheek and wipes away his tears and it takes him a moment till he can breathe again, and then he’s rising to his feet to wrap her in his arms, lips hungry and desperate against hers. 

They don’t stop touching for a long time, and when they’re twined together in a sweaty mess of limbs on the kitchen floor, he strokes her hair gently and smiles. 

It’s taken him some time to realize that she wasn’t the one who was lost without him, no, it was  _ him _ , drifting and angry and lonely without her; always searching for something that would chase it all away. 

He clutches her a little tighter and presses his lips to her hair, “I love you Beth Green,” he whispers in a raspy voice. 

“For how long?”

It’s a call and refrain they’ve perfected over the years and it never fails to make him smile. 

“Forever.”

She leans up a little and smiles at him, fingers tracing his face. 

“It’s not nearly enough.”

It isn’t. 

It won’t be. 

But it’ll have to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how often I'll be able to update this story, I have another WIP and tumblr updates to do, so it will likely be slow. But hey, it's slow burn for a reason, right?!? There is a spotify playlist for this fic here: https://open.spotify.com/user/h8zhsilbhzlfphod5alsli88e/playlist/5hicVeL5TS0nAp7wS3po7L?si=yEtJCPxMTeON1ro1GtwEdg


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